


What If?

by remy71923



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because everyone deserves to be happy, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Mild Smut, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Trust Issues, commitment issues, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23665396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: "For her broken and thirsty heart, one she was certain could never be fixed, could never be put back together. Not even by him, no matter how hard he would try."People have always said loving with a broken heart was impossible, and all her life it's what someone like Natasha Romanoff had believed. She could never love enough, she thought, and it's what she believed, too, when she found out how much Steve Rogers could love—how someone like him could love someone like her, whose love was never enough for everyone, except him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	What If?

**Author's Note:**

> i have too many ideas in my head that i can't help but just write and share some of them! this particular one will be slightly different than the others, though, in such a way that though it's multi-chap, it's gonna be around 4-5 chapters only, though i promise i'll make it up with the length per chapter.
> 
> chapter 1 would probably (and i say this very lightly) be the longest one as it would cover a lot of history and bits and pieces of mini-stories and arcs which would appear in later chapters. there would be more details (and drama) in the later chapters. for now, this is just a (somehow?) brief overview, kind of like giving the general feel of the story.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy! don't forget to leave some reviews, comments and kudos!

It all started with a party.

And the party was just like any other usual high school party one can think of. Said host’s parents were out of town, and since he was one of the richest and most popular guys in school, he was able to invite almost everyone in their high school, most especially those in the same circle as he was—mostly the rich and popular kids like him, those belonging in elite circles and teams in their high school, as well as _their_ friends. He was also able to accommodate them inside their huge mansion, supply an unlimited amount of alcohol and food, enough to keep his guests satisfied, and definitely _more_ than enough to keep them drunk.

It was at this party where the girl had met the boy, and where the boy had met the girl.

But it’s not that they _hadn’t_ met before. They had met already, several times even. He was part of the football team, and she was the co-captain of the cheerleading team. They belonged in the same elite circle in their high school, belonged in the popular clique with everybody else, but they were never close. They just knew each other’s names, knew each other’s faces, knew of each other’s places in their high school. Apart from a few curt nods and polite smiles during games and while passing by each other in the hallways, they never had a real conversation.

But that night, his eyes met hers in this party, and she gave him a small and sly smile, one that, for some reason, made him feel warm in his chest and down to the pit of his stomach. He had never noticed it before—the beauty she held, evident in her gorgeous red tresses, long lashes, rosy cheeks, creamy skin and captivating green eyes. She was beautiful, _absolutely_ and mesmerizingly. And he wasn’t at all sure if it was the alcohol speaking and acting on his behalf, but he found himself drawing closer towards her. And he also wasn’t sure if it was the dancing lights playing with his mind, but he found her smiling widely as he walked towards her, his feet pausing right in front of her as she sipped her drink, eyeing him curiously from over the cup she was holding.

“What’s a girl like you doing alone in a party like this?” he asked, and her smile widened as she giggled and cleared her throat, putting her drink down on the counter.

“Steve Rogers,” she said in her low and smooth voice, one that sent a warm pool to gather in the pit of his stomach, and he almost _groaned_ at how low, sexy and husky her voice was. He didn’t think he remembered her voice sounding like so, and it was almost as if she was doing it on purpose to do _exactly_ as what it was already doing to Steve. “‘Ve heard everyone say things about you, but I would never take you as a sweet talker.” she said, and he hummed.

“What have you always taken _me_ for?” he asked, and she smirked.

“A sweetheart,” she said, looking at him through her long lashes. “That shy little kid from Brooklyn, like what James would always tell me when he would talk about you.”

 _James?_ Bucky, right. “Should I be flattered that my best friend talks about me to you a lot?” he asked, and she chuckled softly, lifting a shoulder to shrug as she took another sip of her drink.

“Depends on whatever flatters you the most, Steve Rogers,” she responded with a smirk, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “He’s _my_ best friend, too. Does _he_ talk flattering things about _me_ to you too?”

“Depends on what flatters you the most, Natasha Romanoff.” he replied with a smirk of his own and she laughed softly—a beautiful sound, really, one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard that night. He smiled widely, his eyes roaming her face as if mesmerized, as if he couldn’t believe that a girl as beautiful as _her_ is actually staying with him, talking with him, spending time with _him_ in a party filled with the most popular kids in their high school, some boys more handsome than him.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, when at the corner of her eye, she spotted a few girls giggling, obviously ogling over at her companion beside her, her newly-found—awfully hot, magnificently sexy—friend. She drank the rest of her drink and exhaled a breath, the corner of her mouth quirking when she felt Steve’s eyes on her, completely oblivious to the girls looking at him, because all of his attention was on _her._

She’s flattered at the mere honor of being the object of his attention.

“I’m surprised you’re not with a date tonight,” she said, and she turned to face the counter, looking up at him as he mirrored her movements, giving her a small and sweet smile. “Or did you make that intentional so you can let the single girls in this party ogle at you all night?”

He looked almost confused that she wanted to laugh, and when he furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes roaming around the room to find exactly what _she_ might be talking about, only then did it dawn on her that he _might_ be very confused, definitely oblivious to the attention he was getting from the other girls. Now _that_ almost made her swoon. “I don’t want all the other girls’ attention,” he murmured, and he grabbed a shot glass and poured himself a shot. Natasha slid over her cup, and he raised an eyebrow at her as she nodded, watching as he poured her... _an equivalent of three shots perhaps?_ He couldn’t really tell. “I never did.”

Natasha hummed, clinking her cup with his shot glass as they drank, him the entire shot glass while she the contents of the entire cup. Steve’s eyes widened as he chuckled lowly and amusedly at her. “You’re not drunk?” he asked, and she giggled and shook her head.

“Would take a lot more to get me drunk, Rogers,” she responded, pouring herself another full cup of tequila, and pouring Steve another shot. “So tell me.” She drank, and he followed suit as he exhaled loudly, feeling the alcohol trace down smoothly down his throat. “Whose attention would you want to grab?”

Steve shrugged, and he let out a small chuckle. “I got yours, didn’t I?” he asked.

“That almost sounded like I was just a consolation prize you just settled for,” she responded with a smirk and he shook his head, pouring themselves another drink as they drank, and he started feeling a bit tipsy now, his head feeling lighter, as he shut his eyes tight and shook his head. “Or are you more flattered that I gave you _my_ attention?”

“Are _you_ flattered I only have my attention on _you?”_ he asked, and Natasha hummed, grinning widely and mischievously as they drank once again.

“I could’ve ignored you,” she pointed out with a raised eyebrow, and a smirk. His eyes flickering down to her full red lips, the movement not escaping her attention as her smirk widened. “After all, you’re just a sweet-talker by the bar in another one of Tony Stark’s parties.” she said.

Steve took another shot, the shot that would give him _enough_ guts and courage to continue flirting and grabbing the attention of this gorgeous redhead in front of him. “Is that what I am?” he asked, his voice low and husky, and he could see the faint surprise in her, quickly being replaced by a wide, almost mischievous grin, her eyes roaming up and down his body as she bit her bottom lip. She inched herself closer towards him, as he rested a hand on her hip, hoping she wouldn’t retaliate, and that he wasn’t reading this wrong.

Thankfully, he wasn’t.

“You’re just a guy flirting with a girl by the bar,” she continued, her voice low and husky, her hand lifting to slide up his chest, gripping his shirt tight in her hand and pulling him even closer to her. “We’re just two strangers flirting with each other, perhaps hoping it would end up to be something more.” she continued, and he chuckled, his other hand wrapping around her waist, sliding to rest on the small of her back, mere inches above her ass.

“Is that what _we_ are?” he asked, his eyes flickering down to her lips. He’s _tempted,_ very tempted to just lean down, curious on what her lips might feel against his, but he resisted. His eyes traveled back to meet her eyes, and he almost let out a soft groan when he saw her eyes nearly darkening, hazed by alcohol and desire as she bit her bottom lip and smirked.

Thank _goodness_ he wasn’t the only one.

“Careful, lover boy,” she teased lightly, her one free hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his golden locks as she pulled him even closer to her, their faces merely inches away from each other. “The girls are staring.” she whispered, and he let out a low and throaty chuckle, one that sent a warm pool of desire in the pit of her stomach.

He pulled himself closer to her, and he watched as her eyes fluttered, looking down at his lips then back up at his eyes. “Then let them,” he whispered, brushing his lips over hers, eliciting a soft whimper from her. “Let them stare.” he continued, pressing his lips on her in a _hot,_ hungry and desperate kiss, fueled with want and desire.

Neither of them admittedly knew what had gotten over them, whether they should blame it on the alcohol or merely on teenage hormones. But the next thing they knew, their hands started roaming, exploring each other, until Natasha let out a soft whimper, begging Steve against his mouth to take her, because she wanted him, and she knew he wanted her.

It was the first time they slept together—their bodies tangled up in sweat and spare sheets from one of the guest rooms of the Starks’ mansion. Who would’ve thought that it wouldn’t be their last? That what they indeed had would lead into something more?

Surely neither of them did.

Because it was as if the party had merely opened doors for more opportunities between the two of them. They grew closer, their bond and friendship growing and stretching even after Steve graduated high school, and even until Natasha did too, eventually ending up in the same university as him (conveniently so, she supposed). His face was one of the first friendly faces she had ever encountered upon entering university, his arms the first ones to envelop her in a tight embrace once she had finally settled in her dorm room and he turned up just in time for dinner.

“There’s this good cafe I want to bring you to,” he said on her first night in university, his eyes sparkling in sheer and pure excitement that she found herself getting excited about this cafe herself. She giggled and clung to his arm, missing the faint blush appearing on his cheeks as he smiled widely and tugged her closer to him. “They’ve good food at a reasonable price, and have a good ambience for studying too. So if you need some late-night snacks or coffee, you’ll know where to go.”

“Show me more places after this?” she asked him softly, and he looked down at her and nodded with a chuckle, pushing the door open for her to enter first as he followed after. _Always the gentleman,_ Natasha thought. _Always the perfect one._

They spent the rest of the evening talking and strolling, Steve acting like her “tour guide” of the buildings, as if she hadn’t already attended the campus tour prior to enrolling. Still, she enjoyed the way he spoke, enjoyed his company, and the way he would input his own stories and testimonies for every class he had in the buildings. He told her of the academic life as a student in the university, told her of the student organizations, the possible ones she could join in, the ones perhaps he knew she would enjoy.

And of _course,_ he knew which things she liked, which things she didn’t. He knew her so closely and intimately, and she allowed him so. Because if there was anyone in the world whom she allowed to be close enough to her, to know her in such a close and intimate way despite the short amount of time they’ve known each other, it would be him. It was Steve Rogers, always Steve Rogers.

Their friendship merely grew as their time passed in university. They spent their breaks together, introduced the other to their sets of friends and classmates, hung out as much as they could, spent time studying, talking or even just relaxing with each other. Natasha found that one of the favorite things Steve would do was spend clear evenings just under the sky, relaxing and stargazing by the observatory. She had accompanied him one night, and soon it became a regular thing for the both of them—talking and relaxing under the night sky, watching the stars and whispering wishes when a falling star would pass by them.

Natasha never actually _did_ make a wish, because she figured she never really believed in those things, but Steve would. And his wishes would come true every time, when he would open his eyes once again and turn his head to find Natasha with a small and content smile on her face, laying beside him while she stared up at the stars.

He could only wish for something _more,_ but knew it would be a stretch to do so. Nevertheless, some nights he allowed himself to be greedy, and he would wish for more, but some nights, he would be content with what he had, and where he would be. _Either way was fine,_ he figured. _Being with her would always be enough._

And their arrangement still stood, of course, with most of their nights, after stargazing, ending up in either one of their dorm bedrooms, or in either one of their cars, until it would turn into sleepovers where they would fall asleep beside the other, just holding and cuddling until the sun would come up. In those mornings, Steve would thank the lucky stars that passed him by, that he would be able to hold her in his arms, that she would be the first one he would see in the morning, and the last one he saw in the evening. In those mornings, he allowed himself to be greedy, and though there weren’t any stars present in the mornings, he still wished for an eternity like this—an eternity with her.

Because he was _so,_ deeply, falling in love with her, even though he knew he can’t. Even though he knew it wasn’t allowed, he still did. Would it be a sin to do so?

He knew it was, because for quite some time, it had all been just that—desire. Sexual, lustful and wanton desire for the other, until it wasn’t. Or at _least_ for him, it wasn’t. It grew more than that, transcended into more than that.

But for Natasha, it was all she ever knew. They even made it clear to the other about this, this arrangement they agreed to back in high school. She had made it clear from the _very_ start that she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, not looking for a serious relationship, and Steve merely went with it, never said anything against it, nor had he ever told her it was the same for him too. She never thought about anything otherwise, mostly because she had also witnessed him in relationships, hanging out with other girls and eventually becoming somebody else’s boyfriend. She would cheer for him, be happy for him, but eventually still be there for him when said relationships would end. The longest, she calculated, had only been a month-long relationship, with a girl named Peggy Carter, whom Steve had broken up with during his junior year in college, and Natasha’s (and Peggy’s) sophomore year in college.

Peggy was Natasha’s classmate, and during one time when Steve had been waiting for Natasha in _that_ same class, Peggy asked Natasha about him, and there she introduced them to each other. She figured they hit it off right away, too, that it had been a shame the relationship had only lasted for about a month. It was almost as if Natasha felt responsible for the relationship and thus, the breakup.

She asked about her, about what happened and why it ended, completely oblivious with the reasons when she thought there was an instant sort of chemistry and attraction between the two of them. She had asked Peggy first, of course, and when she told her Steve had initiated the breakup, she was more than surprised about her best friend’s actions.

And while the answer of _why_ had been clear to Steve, he responded in such a way that he knew Natasha would want to, because the truth would only scare her away. The truth would only hurt, would only drive them further apart. So he responded to her with an initiation of sex.

“She’s not it,” he had only answered, and she responded with a moan because his lips were on her neck, sucking a sensitive pulse point as his hands lowered to play with her nipple. “She’s not...not it.”

 _She’s not you,_ he wanted to say, but he remembered he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to say it, not if he wanted her, not if he wanted to keep her, and as much as he did, he knew she wouldn’t want to be kept, wouldn’t want to be wanted the way he did.

So he kept mum, keeping all his emotions to himself, all this desire to himself, wondering until _when_ could he do it, until when could he possibly keep everything at bay and keep himself mum, when his feelings and his desire for her would only grow every time he would spend his day with her, every time she would look at him and every time she would smile and laugh with him. How long before he could keep _all_ of these to himself?

 _It’s been_ _years,_ he thought, this arrangement they have, and their close friendship despite their sexual relationship behind closed doors. With every year, he thought, the desire kept building, and along the way, he had found desire for her in another form—one that he might even qualify as _love._

He was falling for her, falling so _hard_ in love with her, even though he knew she wasn’t. Not with him, not with _anyone._ How long could he keep this thing going without him telling her the truth? Without _him_ knowing why she can’t love him the same way he did?

“What is it with you and relationships?” he asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare back as she snuggled closer to him, catching her breath after, yet again, another intense session. He was in his final semester in college, and after almost _four_ years of this arrangement, he thought he deserved to know why he wasn’t allowed to want her, why the big elephant in the room that was his desire and love for this redheaded woman should remain just that—an unspoken subject, a _forbidden_ subject, one that merely loomed over him, uncertain if it was already looming over her. “Why are you so against having one? Not even a short one?”

She didn’t respond, instead resumed drawing small patterns on his chest like she would usually do after their every session. “I don’t wanna have one,” she murmured. “I don’t think I _can_ have one.”

“Why?” he asked, and she pulled away from him ever so slightly.

“Can we talk about something else?” she asked, and he sighed.

“Indulge me for once?” he requested, because they may have talked about _everything_ about their lives, but they never got the chance to talk about _that._ And because he would always do so with her, too. Each failed relationship, she would ask, and he would respond without hesitation, even if it would hurt, even if it would make him uncomfortable because who _wouldn’t?_ Talking about a girl you dated in front of the girl you loved…

Who wouldn’t?

Natasha blinked her eyes at him, and Steve was afraid she would get up, pick up her clothes and leave but she didn’t. Instead she lay back on his bed, her eyes trained on the ceiling as she pulled the covers up to her chest. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips together. “I’ve too much baggage with me,” she said quietly. “Too heavy to have to bring in with someone.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think there can ever be such a thing,” he said quietly. “Not when the person loves you, and not when you love the person as much.”

“Loving someone,” Natasha repeated with a light scoff and she shook her head, turning her head to face away from Steve. “Haven’t exactly held the best track record for _that_ one.”

 _Love isn’t enough,_ she thought. _Or at least her love was never enough at all._

Steve regarded her, waiting for her to continue, to say anything more, and she turned her head to meet his eyes, giving him a small and sad smile. “My heart had been broken too many times since I was young to mend it now that I’m older,” she said. “I can’t have myself loving someone in such a way that I’ll allow myself to be lost and carefree, to feel good and _be_ free—like how you’re supposed to love a person.”

 _Reverently and passionately, so free of care and so free of worries._ She envied those who have that ability to love, more so envied those who have the ability yet still fall short in doing so. _Like the first people that she loved,_ she thought, _who never viewed her love to be enough to stay and to mind her._

“You’ll be surprised, the number of people who love you like so, and for the number of people waiting for you to love them back,” Steve replied quietly and her smile faded slightly as she looked at his bright blue eyes. “Allow yourself to fall, just _freefall.”_ he said, but she scoffed at the idea.

“That’s not possible,” she said, shaking her head as she looked away, and Steve had wanted to scream, wanted to confess right _then_ and there of how he felt towards her, but he kept it to himself, kept _all_ the feelings to himself. “You know what it's like, to love like how _I_ did?” she asked. “It felt like voluntary going up eighty feet above the ground and allowing yourself to fall— _freefall,_ if you will—and eventually breaking in half. It would hurt, but then there was hope, because even if they were few, there were _still_ a handful of people who could put you back together.” She paused and pursed her lips together. “But none of them did, so you did the putting back together yourself? And d’you know what happens when a broken person tries to put herself back together?”

“She succeeds?”

“She _doesn’t_ put herself back together because she can’t _move,”_ she responded and she sighed. “A broken heart can’t love, Steve. No matter how much it wants to, and no matter how hard it tries.”

And god forbid how she _does_ want to try.

“Can you promise me something?” she asked, her eyes trained back on the ceiling, and he looked at her expectantly, patiently and almost worriedly. “Promise me you won’t love me, you wouldn’t fall for me, and you wouldn’t...you wouldn’t risk yourself getting hurt by me.”

“Nat…” _That’s not possible,_ he thought. _It’s not possible because it’s too late._

 _“Promise_ me, Steve,” she insisted, nonetheless, even though every inch of Steve was aching, every inch of his nerves practically alive, as if screaming at him to tell him the truth, to not indulge her request, to let her _know_ the truth even if she didn’t want to hear it. “Promise me. You can’t fall in love with me, you _can’t_ love me, you _have_ to love someone else.”

He wondered if she could already tell. He wondered if she already knew, and this was merely her way of telling him it was over. He wondered if this was his way out, if she was giving him a free pass and a way out, even if he didn’t want an out, even if he couldn’t see himself accepting an out.

He couldn’t lose her. He can’t. It’s an unimaginable thing, an impossible thing. He can’t imagine living a life without _her_ in it.

“I promise.” he whispered, the lie leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to apologize, tell her he’s sorry because it was too late, tell her he’s sorry because he would be lying, but when she leaned up to kiss him, her mouth desperate, frantic and hungry against him, he knew that in telling so, he would have to pay a bigger price that he can’t afford.

If he can’t tell her, perhaps he can show her, through every touch, every kiss and every thrust, with every moan, every gasp, and every time he would whisper her name. He didn’t know how long he was gonna last with this, this whole show, this whole pretend thing, how long he’s gonna allow himself to die each time just to be with her.

But he was willing, nonetheless, to die every time just so he could be with her.

* * *

“You know you were asking too much from him, right?” Bucky asked, exhaling as he watched a breath of smoke flow in front of him, he let out another exhale as he tapped his cigarette stick with his thumb. “The whole promise of him not loving you, not falling in love with you, and other stuff?”

 _Of course, he knew,_ Natasha thought as she looked away and put down the cigarette stick, exhaling the smoke. If she didn’t tell him, of course _he_ did, because Bucky’s not only _her_ best friend, he was also _his,_ and even if Natasha knew Bucky first, Bucky and Steve still had a fairly longer friendship than they had, having spent most of their elementary years together, when that was the time she and him were separated.

“You know he was in love with you,” he continued. It was a statement, not a question, and Natasha looked back at Bucky and met his baby blue eyes. “You gotta _have_ to know, right? That he was in love with you, _already_ falling in love with you when you asked that.”

 _She did._ She knew he was already falling in love with her, knew by then he already loved her, knew enough that his mere promises meant nothing—the promise _she_ asked of him. It was a vain attempt to stop him from doing so, a vain attempt to keep the distance between them without compromising both their arrangement and their friendship.

“I didn’t want him to know that I do,” she responded quietly, looking away once again, refusing to meet her best friend’s scrutinizing and disapproving look. She huffed out a breath of smoke and shook her head. “Is that what you came to _me_ for? I could’ve been spending more time with Sharon today—”

“Look me in the eye and tell me _never_ once did you ever feel any kind of love towards him,” Bucky said, leaning closer and resting his elbow on the table between them. They were in a bar, their drinks untouched as they continued to smoke, and Natasha’s eyes continued to roam at the university students drinking and laughing, spread around the booths in the bar, her eyes exploring _anywhere_ but on him. “Tell me you never loved him, tell me you never _wanted_ to love him—”

“You say that like it’s a _choice_ that I could just fix myself and choose to love him all the way, James—”

“Because it _is,_ Nat! Love is _exactly_ a choice,” he said, his voice slightly raised as Natasha just shook her head and bit her bottom lip in frustration. “You don’t have to let the past dictate how you act, nor let their lack of love inhibit you from showing so. You make them _win_ every time you do it, as if telling them that what they did, or what they _didn’t_ do had a great effect on you, and you can’t keep on using _that_ as an excuse—”

“An _excuse?”_ she exclaimed, her voice raised as she frowns, her eyes narrowing and meeting Bucky’s. “You think my whole ordeal, the things I’ve gone through, the things I’ve _survived_ through is a whole thing I chose so I could turn out like this?”

Bucky huffed out a sigh and shook his head. “Nat, I’m not saying—”

“My _mother_ abandoned me when I was four years old, James, and my father stopped caring about me the moment she left and disappeared,” she continued, her chest constricting and her heart aching, that she began to wonder _how_ was it that even after all these years, that whole reality would still hurt her? “I never had _anybody_ with me every time there would be a parent-teacher conference in school or any goddamn show the school would come up with! I never had _anyone_ take a picture with me during my elementary graduation, and not even my high school graduation. My father never gave a _fuck_ about me, thinking shoving me money would shut me up and make me fine and I’ve _never_ heard from my mother ever since she left and promised to come back for me, _never!_ I never had _anyone,_ James, and so as much as I would _want_ to love somebody else, I could _never,_ ever afford to lose sight of myself once again by losing myself loving another person I’d _know_ won’t love me back! People like _me_ can't love people like them, James, we can't. That's not how it works.”

 _I’ve too much baggage with me,_ she told Steve during that one time he asked her what had been wrong, what had been her deal, what was it with her and relationships and love. _Too heavy to have to bring in with someone._

 _I don’t think there can ever be such a thing,_ he told her. _Not when the person loves you, and not when you love the person as much._

That’s when she knew. That’s when she _had_ to tell him they couldn’t happen, that he couldn’t love her, that _she_ couldn’t love him no matter how hard she tried. Bucky knew her whole ordeal, _had_ been there when her mother had disappeared and when she slowly felt her father slipping away from her at age four. So why was it that _he_ couldn’t understand? Why was it that he acted like he didn’t know?

Like he was turning his back against her? Like what her mother and her father did, like what _everyone_ else did with her.

“And to answer your question, I _do_ love him,” Natasha responded, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at Bucky who gave her a small and sad look. “I love him, but it’s not the kind of love he needed from me, not the kind of love _you_ would want me to have for him.” She shook her head and leaned back in her seat. “I can’t... _love_ him the same way he loves me, and I _tried._ I’ve been _trying_ for so long, but I _can’t._ I _can’t_ love him like that, James.”

Bucky sighed and continued to smoke, shaking his head as he looked at her. “Did you know he’s been in love with you for long?” he asked, and Natasha huffed out a breath.

“If you’re implying I took advantage of his feelings, I didn’t,” she told him quietly. “I didn’t...I didn’t know until then. Until I asked him to promise me so, and that was the last time we ever did it.”

“Because he never asked you again.” Natasha looked away. It’s true. She hadn’t heard from him in two weeks, not since _that_ night, not since she asked him of her request.

“It felt wrong if I would ask him.” she replied quietly, and Bucky gave her a solemn nod.

“Can you do something?” he asked, and she looked back at him. “Can you stop this thing with him? This...arrangement. Can you end it?”

She felt like it was a big think to ask, but she figured it was only fair for her to do as he said. She wasn’t good enough for him, never at all _good_ for him to begin with, even if she had thought _he_ was good for her. But it wasn’t fair to think like that—it was _selfish_ to do so. For the past few years all she had ever known and gained security from was Steve. She would only ever feel safe whenever he would hold her, whenever he would kiss her, whenever he would be inside her. She would only ever feel beautiful every time he would tell her so, would only ever feel valuable and worth something whenever he would worship her body by kisses and by his touch. 

She had only ever felt loved the moment he almost said it, the moment he admitted it, _that_ same moment she asked him not to. It was only fair, she figured. It would be fair to do this for him.

“I’m not...I’m not saying you’d stop being friends with him,” Bucky continued, and her eyes flickered back to Bucky, his eyes stern yet somehow worried and concerned, and then and there, she started thinking whether the worry and concern were for Steve or for her. She figured it might be for Steve. “Look, Nat, you know I love you—”

“I know,” she said quietly, giving Bucky a small nod as she swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes stinging and filling with tears. “You don’t have to explain it.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he looked at her and he sighed as he shook his head. “Nat, I’m not taking sides,” he said quietly and gently, and she looked away from him as she pursed her lips together. “I’m not choosing _him_ over you, I just...I just think that this is the best. And someone _has_ to do something or say something before everything gets worse.” He sighed when she still wasn’t looking at him. “Nat…”

“I understand,” she told him quietly. “I’ll end everything. And for the record, it kinda feels like you still are. Choosing his side over me.”

 _You are picking his side and you are leaving mine._ But she figured there weren’t any sides to this situation. This was _all_ her fault, everything that has happened, and everything that had become of her and Steve. If only she knew better. If only she had _seen_ the signs long before it manifested on Steve. If only she knew how to love. If only she tried _harder_ to love him just as much as he loved her.

Would things have been better? Would they have been happy? Would _Steve_ have been happy?

She disposed of her cigarette and pulled out five dollars from her purse, laying it on the table as she got up, despite Bucky’s protests, asking her to stay, telling her he was sorry and he could explain himself further and better but he didn’t need to, did he? She understood everything, and he was right. She agreed with everything that he said, with all of his pointers and his proposition: this thing she had with Steve should dissolve, perhaps including their friendship so as to allow himself to heal and move past from her.

It was for the best. _That_ was for the best. It was the only fair choice she could do for him.

 _And maybe someday,_ she thought, as she dragged her feet up to her dorm building and up to her room, opening the door to let herself in, shutting the door and the rest of the world behind her. _Maybe someday, when things are better, they could be friends again._ She flopped down on the bed and wrapped herself around her comforter, forcing her eyes shut, pushing down the aching feeling rising in her chest.

She was _not_ gonna cry. This mistake was _not_ something she would cry about, not when it’s _her_ mistake, not when she knew it was _all_ her fault.

But then again, when was it ever not?

She reached for her phone, and with shaky hands and shaky fingers, a blurring vision and aching heart, she attempted to come up with a few words. It took her more than just a few attempts, a few moments to type words just so she could delete them to start over again. _Oh,_ if only real life worked like so. If only she could just easily undo the words she said, the things she had done.

But no right amount of words could ever express what she wanted to, no possible words in the English vocabulary could ever express how much she wanted to tell him of how she felt. She wished it was easy—she could just type in her whole story, type in the entire excuse she had and send it to him, hoping it would be fine and they could move on but she knew it wouldn’t work. What use would a story have to mend a broken heart like his? What right combination of words could she say, enough to make up for the pain she had caused him, to fix the heartbreak she had caused him, to fill in her faults and shortcomings? What right amount of words did he deserve? Even if she _knew_ he deserved _more_ than just a few sets of words. But she also knew she had no other choice but to give just that—a few words, hoping it would mean something for him, hoping it would be enough for him to heal and move on, move past her and move forward.

 _Maybe someday,_ she thought, as her shaky fingers started moving on her keyboard, her eyes scanning to the sets of words she was coming up with. _Maybe someday, these words could be enough. Maybe someday, he would forgive her for giving only these few words she could muster._

The text had been short, but as she hit ‘send’, she wished she could’ve said more. But what _more_ could she say? What _more_ can somebody add to a text that says: _Steve, I’m sorry. We can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I failed._ What kind of _words_ could she add to make it more deserving of him?

It didn’t take long until his picture appeared on the screen of her phone. He was calling, possibly wanting an explanation, _needing_ an explanation, but what else could Natasha have? If she’d explain, this would only last longer than necessary, stretching the pain for both of them, making it last longer than it should. If she wouldn’t explain, it might not be something he deserved, but perhaps it would be a quick recovery, a quicker way for him to get over her, for him to move past their friendship and everything else.

 _Lesser pain,_ she thought, as she put her phone down with shaky hands on her bedside table. _Would choose the path of lesser pain._ For the both of them. But it was only until after the vibrations of her phone had stopped did she allow herself to think—lesser pain for _whom?_

 _Maybe someday, he’d understand,_ she thought. _Maybe someday, he’d forgive her._

_Maybe someday, she’d be deserving of him too._

_Maybe someday too,_ she thought, as she would drag her feet into her classes, as she would let her friends drag her into bars as weeks pass, as she would let her friends introduce her to all the other boys present in those bars, hoping one of them could be “worthy of Natasha’s love” as they would say. _Maybe someday, she could learn how to love, learn how to love and how to properly accept love._ But as her eyes flickered from one boy to the next, her friends dragging her as if some kind of prize being sold to male gaze, she figured that none of them could match up to him. None of them could ever become Steve Rogers.

None of them could ever make her feel beautiful, worthy and loved the way he would make her feel. It was such a selfish reason to make a person stay, so she chided herself inwardly, asking _how_ in the world had she not learned a lesson after her meeting with Bucky.

She couldn’t love. She wasn’t capable of such a thing. She wasn’t capable of making a person stay, not capable of keeping a person who loved her in her life.

Because she couldn’t love them back enough. The love that she had, no matter how small or how big, will never be enough.

* * *

It’s been months, and the end of the semester had drawn near.

She had been quick to forget, probably because of the amount of work she had to do by the end of her junior year in college. It was also probably because of the amount of time she spent dedicating herself in keeping her grades up, arranging some documents for her upcoming internship for the break, and the fact that her father had recently contacted her once again, telling her of the enormous amount of money he was about to transfer to her bank account, probably thinking she was gonna graduate from university _that_ year rather than the next.

He said he knew that when she pointed it out to him, though Natasha was sure he hadn’t, and his response was a quick dismissal of what could possibly be a _longer_ conversation she knew her father would not want with her. What would _she_ do with all that money?

She had been quick to forget about what Bucky had asked of her, their small “altercation” (she barely called it that, but she knew better than to correct him so) and his request with regards to Steve. She had been quick to _forget_ about Steve. And she supposed it was a sweet relief too, because for a while, the hurt had gone away, along with the regret and the guilt. For a while, she was living normally, _feeling_ normally, the way she would usually feel about herself—carefree with her friends, focused on academics, guilt-free in almost all aspects of her life.

She said _almost,_ because in some way, a small part of her still hurt when she would think about Steve. Nevertheless, it had been small, and it didn’t stop her from living her life the way she wanted to.

Not until she heard a knock on her door one fine and quiet Friday night. She was not expecting anybody, didn’t have a roommate nor ever thought of _anybody_ who might be knocking on her dorm room door at nearly midnight. It was a quiet night, and so she treated it as such, and after discarding her face mask and wearing her comfortable pyjamas, she had been ready to settle down on her bed with a book, but unfortunately for her, the universe had other things planned for her.

Like putting Steve Rogers on her door, the one knocking on her room at midnight one quiet Friday evening, after not hearing from him for _so_ long.

“Steve?” she asked, because she _had_ to make sure. She couldn’t believe it, of course, his presence right in front of her, _him_ being here, his eyes wide and glassy, eyebrows furrowed in...worry? Confusion? Anxiety? She’s not entirely sure. Months spent away from him, as well as their previous interaction and the possible events in-between with Bucky have made it difficult to read him, made it difficult to _bring_ herself to read him, afraid she might read him wrong, afraid she might hurt him even further when it’s the last thing she would want to do with him.

“I haven’t...I haven’t seen you in a while,” he started quietly. _A while,_ she almost laughed at that. _‘A while’_ was an extreme understatement. “I...I haven’t heard from you.” He paused and looked away almost shamefully. “Haven’t...haven’t heard from you since that text.”

Natasha looked away, her heart constricting as she folded her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry.” she said quietly, and Steve looked back at her.

“For what?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t a mocking question, she figured, but rather a _genuine_ one, like he was _really_ asking her what she had been sorry for, what she was asking forgiveness for. And she opened her mouth to say it, to _say_ what she wanted to say sorry for. _For not reaching out, for ending their friendship with a text, for not being enough, for not being able to love you back,_ but nothing came out. Steve looked away for a moment, and Natasha looked down at her feet, ashamed, and Steve shook his head.

“I’ll be graduating tomorrow,” he said quietly, and Natasha looked back up at him. _Right, he was._ Bucky had told her the day of their graduation, but as she had been busy for the past months, and Bucky had made it clear that they could celebrate even after his graduation, she had never paid much attention to it, until _now._ “I’ll...well, Bucky and I will, and...before I go, I just…” he trailed off and sighed. “I just wanted to see you. ‘Cause I...I haven’t seen you and I...I _really_ wanted to, and—”

“Steve—” Natasha tried to say but Steve shook his head.

“I just wanted to know, Nat, if in _any_ way, or in _any_ form, if you _loved_ me at all,” he continued, and Natasha looked away again and clenched her jaw, her eyes closing as she lowered her head and swallowed the lump down her throat. “In _any_ way at all. Even if...even if it wasn’t the same way that I love you.”

 _Love,_ as in in the present tense. Like he still did, at that point, even after months of separation and not seeing each other, he still did. Even if she had hurt him by not loving him the same way, he still did. She looked up to meet his wide and glassy eyes, into that swirling storm of emotions that had never made sense to her when he would look at her, but now it did. All of these emotions pointed to _love,_ one she couldn’t return back to him that she almost felt ashamed for staring at it too long, for being the object of it if she was so incapable of giving the same thing back to him.

“Steve, I…” she trailed off, looking away and taking a shaky breath. This was _difficult,_ of course. Seeing him, talking to him about this, it’s all _difficult,_ but she could only imagine how difficult and painful it might be for him as well. And so she sucked a breath and pushed the discomfort down and looked back at him—at those eyes she never dared deserve. “I...I _did._ But it’s...it’s different, you see? It’s...it’s less. Maybe I just managed to love only _some_ of you, but not enough.”

 _Not in the same way you did with me,_ was the silent addendum. _Not in the same way you loved the entirety of me._

He nodded slowly, as if slowly trying to understand what she had tried to say. He just couldn’t understand, that's all. He couldn’t understand...how does someone only love a part? But he supposed his greedy heart didn’t work that way, and perhaps hers did. Perhaps that was how she loved. Perhaps he was just supposed to accept it, any semblance of love he could pick up from her, he would take it, and he would cherish it.

“Steve…” Natasha started. “Look, I don’t...I don’t know what you came here for, i-if it was just that, if it was any bit of closure, I’m...I’m sorry, I…” she trailed off and huffed out frustratedly as she shook her head. _What was she supposed to say? What was the proper thing to say?_ “What...w-what else—”

“Is that why you’d been gone for months?” he asked quietly, almost shyly and ashamedly as he took a step closer to her. “Because you...because you think you didn’t love me enough, and I couldn’t take it?”

“Steve—”

“And I guess you didn’t love me enough to face me, hm?” he asked. His tone wasn’t accusing. He was simply stating a fact, as if simply asking Natasha for the simple confirmation whether it was true or not. “All...all our...everything we’ve been through it all just came down to _one_ text? One text to end it all, and that’s _it?”_

“No, you don’t understand—” Natasha attempted to explain.

“Or was _that_ something Bucky told you to do?” he asked, and Natasha kept quiet as she looked away from him, and Steve took it as a silent confirmation. “And you never even _dared_ to ask me what _I_ wanted to do?”

“Steve, it was for the best—”

“Said who, Bucky? He isn’t even a part of this!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate and frantic, and Natasha exhaled a breath, praying he wouldn’t wake _anyone_ else in this hallway. “Is that what _you_ also wanted? For you to stay away, for _us_ to end, even our friendship—”

“Steve, that’s not what we meant—”

“Why haven’t you asked me about what _I_ wanted? What I wanted to do?”

“You don't understand, Steve!” she exclaimed, and when she heard somebody shush from the hallway, she quickly pulled Steve inside her room and closed the door as she faced him. “I _can’t_ love you the way that you want to be loved, the way you _deserve_ to be loved, the way _you_ already _loved_ me. You can’t waste any more time with me, Steve, you _can’t_ just put all of that into waste with me, you don’t deserve—”

“Who are _you_ to tell me where I should put my love into?” Steve asked, his voice loud as he looked at her pleadingly. “And you don’t get to tell me what I do or what I _don’t_ deserve, what I want and what I _shouldn’t_ want. That’s not supposed to be on you or Bucky, it should be on me!”

 _“Fine,_ then go the hell with whatever the _fuck_ you want, whatever it is—”

“I want _you!”_ Steve exclaimed, and Natasha took a shaky breath as she watched Steve take a step closer towards her. “I want you.” he said more softly, inching himself closer to her. “I want _you,_ Nat, and I’ve _always_ wanted you, and I know maybe you _don’t_ want me the same way, but…” He paused, their faces merely inches from each other. “Just for tonight, can...can you please want me back too?”

 _She can’t,_ she figured. Because she would _always_ want him, not just for tonight, but for _always._ She just couldn’t want him enough to love him, not in the way that he did with her, not in the way he deserved, not in the way she _wanted_ to for him.

It’s...far more complicated than that.

She didn’t pull away when he took another step closer towards her, not even when he laid a tentative hand on her hip, and not when he lifted her chin slightly to look up at him. She had the power to, had every _right_ to, and he must have been waiting for it too. His eyes were swirling with desire and emotions, eyes flickering down to her lips, hand itching to squeeze and hold her, but he wasn’t doing any of those. He had just paused, probably waiting for her to react, retract and pull back, throw him away and kick him out of her room.

But she didn’t do any of those. _No,_ instead she waited for him patiently, watched as he inched their faces closer together, brushed his lips against hers, until he finally pressed their lips together, kissing her hard as she gasped against his.

They didn’t speak, desperation rushing through both of their veins as Natasha immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her as she opened her mouth for him to explore, his tongue hungry and desperate as he almost greedily explored her mouth, tasting her so frantically she practically melted into his embrace and into the pleasure. She allowed herself, just for tonight like he said, to pretend that she deserved this love he had for her, as she grasped onto his shirt, as if he was her anchor, and their kiss could easily take away the unworthiness she felt, the mistakes she had made, the inability she had to love and hold on to the people she loved the most.

She eventually felt her calves hitting the bed, and he held her before falling, instead laying her gently down on her comforter as he hovered over her, like how he always would, like how it would _always_ make her feel safe whenever he would do it. Her hands thread through his blonde hair, pulling him even closer to her, their mouths only parting for a second when he had managed to tug her shirt up over her head, and he gasped against her mouth when his hands immediately found her breasts, squeezing them and playing with her nipples as he dipped his head down to press kisses on her neck, and she let out soft moans and pants, her hands gripping his shirt tight and tugging it up, barely making it over his head as she almost came _undone_ by the mere pleasure of his hands on her.

There were no words needed, only moans and small whispers of each other’s name and that’s that. It had been _so_ long, _too_ long, and she never allowed herself to feel how much she missed him, how much she missed _this,_ until now.

He shuddered when she grasped him through his pants, moaning against her neck as he sucked another sensitive spot, eliciting a loud moan from her. He dipped his head lower, taking one of her breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with one hand while the other lowered down to grasp her wet and hot center. She moaned, fingernails digging on his back as he started trailing kisses down her body, his kisses soft, hot and almost reverent, like he was taking his time appreciating every inch of her body, as she whimpered and moaned, whispering his name almost desperately, almost beggingly.

In a snap, he removed her pyjama pants along with her underwear, and she watched as he took a second for himself with wide and awestruck eyes that it ached her heart to see the real and raw adoration in his gaze. It’s as if he was seeing for the first time, as if they were _doing_ this for the first time, even if it wasn’t, even if this was _far_ from their first time.

She whimpered, dragging him down to her, their lips meeting anew in a heated, desperate and sloppy kiss. His hands traced down her sides, holding her waist down as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as she practically bucked her hips against his, and he groaned against his mouth as she started fumbling with his pants, unbuckling his belt and undoing the buttons of his pants, finally freeing his hard length from his boxers. He groaned when she stroked him, and he gasped, his eyes glazed as he pulled away to look at her, his eyes so desperate, so _wanting_ that it’s almost painful to look at.

She ran her hands over his chest, sliding up so one rests at the back of his head while the other on his back. She kissed him with the same intensity as he kissed her, the same desperation and hunger, all while wishing to herself how she wished she could only kiss him with the same amount of love that he was giving her. She felt one hand come down on her, knuckles tracing her folds as she moaned against his mouth, and she gasped when she started to feel his tip lightly touching her entrance. He pulled away slightly from her, eyes dark and swirling with desire yet also imploring, as if silently asking her if it was okay.

As if asking her if she _did_ want him, the way that he did, like what he had asked of her.

“Steve.” she whispered, her voice coming out small and quiet, begging and desperate for him to enter her, for him to be inside her. He complied with a long, gentle kiss on her lips before finally entering her, and they both moan against each other’s mouths, him rolling his hips, thrusting gently inside of her at first, until his desperation, his _need_ and his desire started building up that he couldn’t find himself going slow, and it wasn’t like she wanted him to. He shifted on his knees, twisting his angle so that he could go in deeper, brushing that spot inside her that only made her cry out against his mouth, whimpering and practically gasping for air but unwilling to be separated away from him.

Because if this was the last she’d be able to feel beautiful, worthy and loved around him, then she wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t make him go far away from her. If this was the last time the universe would allow her to want him, then she’ll make the most out of it.

So be it.

He thrusted faster, their whispers and moans getting louder, muffled by their kisses on each other’s mouths. She clung to him, finally allowing the wave of pleasure to consume her, and she whimpered, grunting and crying against his mouth especially as Steve lifted her, pushing himself deeper inside of her as she straddled him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against her mouth, and she responded with a whimper, trembling in his arms as she started to feel the pleasure completely consuming her. “It’s okay, let go. Let go, I’ve got you.”

_I’ve got you._

She felt like his words alone could have been enough to throw her over the edge. It made her chest constrict, her heart ache, just hearing his gentle voice tell her that, and knowing that he actually _meant_ it?

Why couldn’t she love him? Why couldn’t she be the same for him?

She trembled, arching her back as Steve dipped his head down to kiss her breasts, thrusting fast inside of her, and it was enough to make her toes curl, her eyes roll back, everything tightening as she cried for his name, finally letting go and allowing her climax to take over her while Steve held her, coaxing her silently and cradling her so securely in his arms as he pumped inside her slowly and gently. It took a few more moments, and with one deep thrust, his hold around tightened, his arms rigid as he moaned her name against her neck, and she felt him come inside of her.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, lifting his face so she could press kisses on his face, coaxing him to finish, cradling him with as much love as she could muster until she felt all tension release from him, his muscles relaxing and unwinding, and he gently laid her down, falling over her. She cradled the back of his head, pressing their lips once again into a hot and searing kiss.

If this would be the last...then she would make it last.

She let out a quiet whimper, tasting something wet and salty on her mouth, and only when he pulled away from her did she realize that those were her own tears. She was _crying,_ so desperately _crying,_ that his simple touch of wiping her tears away gently with his thumbs made her only cry harder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her, burying her face in the crook of his neck and just allowing herself to sob while he held her tightly and securely, his fingers threading through her hair as he cradled her closer to him, soothing her silently without words.

She felt pathetic. She felt unfair. Because between the two of them, it was _him_ who suffered the most out of what they did, out of what she had put him through, and yet here she was, crying in his arms, _him_ comforting her, inexplicably looking like he hadn’t suffered, like he wasn’t hurt, like she hadn’t put him through hell for the lack of love she had always been unable to give.

She had always been the unfair one between the both of them, and he had always been the one who suffered. She wondered why he still allowed himself near her, why he still craved for her and never hated her. _It’s what love does,_ she thought. _Love is falling from eighty feet above the ground, willingly allowing yourself to break in half while waiting for somebody to put you back together._

Love is a choice to subject yourself to falling and breaking, and here he was doing it with her. Why can’t _she_ do it with him?

It didn’t take long before they probably fell asleep on her bed, and she was only awakened when she felt a slight shift on her bed. It was when she realized that he was leaving. _Tomorrow he’ll graduate,_ she thought, and she never knew when she was going to see him again. She wanted to turn, kiss him one more time if it would be the last, but she figured it would be unfair. _I'll be unfair,_ she thought. She couldn’t do that, not if she knew she couldn’t love him, not if she knew he could do better than her, not if she wanted them to stop.

But she wasn’t at all surprised when she felt him kiss the side of her head, and whisper how much he loved her. It was the first ever time she’d ever heard him say it, the first ever time he confessed it to her out loud and it _hurt._ He lingered for a moment more, brushing her hair so gently and lovingly she was tempted to open her eyes to look at him but she knew it would only hurt the two of them more. He whispered those words again, and she felt her mattress shift once again, listening to the door open and close gently before she allowed herself to cry once again, and she cried—for Steve, for her inability to love, for the brokenness she had caused and could never dare to fix.

For her broken and thirsty heart, one she was certain could never be fixed, could never be put back together. Not even by him, no matter how hard he would try.

* * *

“That’s the last of it,” Sharon said with a sigh, and she turned her head to look at Natasha, giving her best friend a small and sad smile. “Have you said goodbye to everyone?” she asked quietly.

Natasha sighed and shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes flickered to Bucky who looked back at her, as if the question Sharon had uttered was also on the tip of his tongue, a question he was yet to ask too, among many others that he had already asked while they helped her pack up. “Well, I’ve said goodbye to everyone I could think of,” she said, giving them a small smile. “Said goodbye to Sam, Clint, Laura, Wanda, Tony, Pepper...and then there’s you two.”

“That’s everyone?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow, and Natasha looked away from him, knowing _very_ well who he was pertaining to, knowing very well who he was trying to say.

“I already said goodbye,” she responded softly, looking back down at her feet. “That night before your graduation, that was goodbye.”

Except that it really wasn’t. Though it had been a full year since their last intimate moment, that night they spent on her bed inside her dorm room, that hadn’t exactly been the last time they _saw_ each other per se. They still saw each other, whenever Bucky would invite over some friends for dinner, when he would practically drag Natasha from university to the restaurant because usually she would decline the offer if only to evade seeing him. They would still see each other, give each other small and almost shy smiles as if they were strangers who never knew each other, never had a past with each other.

It pained her every time, and she would go back earlier than the rest on these nights. She would feel his eyes on her, too, every time she would leave, and it would only hurt more. He looked at her like how she knew he would look at her the moment she told him they were over—gaze dejected and hurt, heartbroken and sad, and she would have to look back at him and see that it was _her_ who had put all of those pain in his eyes. She didn’t have the strength to do so, never had the guts to face the amount of pain she had given him. She’d always wondered, too, how possible it had been for _her_ to experience such a pain, but time and time again, she would get no response. She was only thankful because Sharon and the others had got her, even though she would deny the existence of a heartache whenever they would ask.

 _It just didn’t make sense,_ she figured. _How could a broken heart still hurt and break even further?_ How could it hurt when she had never loved?

“You don’t have to leave,” Bucky told her quietly, and she looked up to meet his eyes, wide and glassy and almost pleading, even though she knew he knew it would be a lost cause and a lost fight. “You’ve had multiple job offers even before you graduated, you could just take one of ‘em. You’ve got a good life here. You’ve got _us.”_ he said, and he sighed and shook his head slightly. “This is your home, Nat. You can’t leave your home.”

Natasha exhaled and shook her head. “You know how much I’ve always wanted to do this, James,” she told him, because it was true. This was a lifelong dream of hers, a dream she’s had when she had been a kid. She was merely pursuing a childhood dream of hers, however fueled it was by many other things. “How much I’ve wanted to move out after college, explore other possibilities and build myself a life, you _know_ how much that dream meant to me.” She watched Bucky sigh in defeat as he looked away, and her eyes flickered over to Sharon who was looking at her sadly. “If I could only bring you with me wherever I go, you know I will. I’m not leaving because of you.”

It was one of the few dreams she had for herself growing up—to never settle and travel as much as she could, starting with places in the States and maybe eventually the world. She had found herself a small place in L.A., figured it would be a good starting point for her, where she had also found a few contractual and freelance jobs she could work on. _Making a living while living the dream,_ she said to herself. And she needed a fresh start for a new life and a new home she was about to build for herself.

 _And I’ve no home,_ she wanted to say. _New York was not my home._ She grew up here, studied here, made friends here, but she was also abandoned here, had her own fair share of heartbreaks here. She lost one of her best friends here, too, one she never really had the chance to say goodbye to, one she wasn’t sure if he knew she’d be leaving.

“I’ve said goodbye to everyone,” she said quietly, looking back down at her feet for a moment before she looked back up at her friends, giving both of them a small and reassuring smile. “I’m ready to leave.”

“No, you haven’t.”

And it was as if a switch had turned on, and all the pain she thought she had pushed down, she thought she had gotten over ever since their last goodbye, in a swift moment, it all went up and her chest and heart were heavy once again. She turned around to look at the source of the voice, and there he was...there _he_ was, the man whom she had hurt, the man she distanced herself from, she ran away from, standing right in front of her. It was almost as if no matter how far she ran, no matter the distance she would put between them, there he would always be, catching her by surprise by actually finding her, by actually _being_ with her.

But no matter how much it hurt seeing him then, she could never deny how much she had wanted to see him before leaving. _And there he was,_ she thought, _in all his glory, as if he’s read my mind._ As if he’d always known her, as if he would _never_ waste the chance to see her.

Even for just _one_ last time.

“Steve.” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe seeing him, like saying his name might make him wander away from her and she didn’t want that. Even though she _had_ willingly distanced herself away from him. But he was there, and he had come to say goodbye.

She watched him take a few steps closer to her, his eyes wide and sad, glassy and brimming with tears, imploring her, _asking_ her for something she was not quite certain what. Not until he said it. Not until he _spoke_ of it. “Don’t go,” he whispered, stopping merely a few inches from her, a close distance yet not close enough for her. She watched his bottom lip quiver and his chin wobble, his voice breaking as he whispered again: “Please don’t go.”

“Steve, I…” she trailed off and shook her head, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I have to, you know I _have_ to.” _I’ve told you, I’ve told you plenty of times._ “You know I have to.” she repeated quietly. _I’ve told you under the stars, and on top of our beds._

“I know,” he whispered, and a tear slipped from his eyes, breaking her heart even further as she reached up to wipe it gently with her thumb, because he can’t cry. He _shouldn’t_ cry. He can’t cry for her. He _shouldn’t_ cry for her. He caught her hand in his, and she had almost forgotten how seemingly fit their hands were when together, how small her hand was in his, how safe she felt when he held her hand. “But why couldn’t you say goodbye to me?”

The question struck her as if she had never seen it coming. She didn’t know why she never wanted to say goodbye, never even gotten herself to answer the question why everything they once had _hurt_ her, so what more for this?

It’s not that she had forgotten him. On the contrary, she hadn’t. She was always in her mind, always in her heart, no matter how broken it was. _How could she forget him?,_ he might ask, but she couldn’t. Though perhaps it was because she had never at all wanted to say goodbye to him. Perhaps she wanted to keep him at bay, always in her mind and forever in the pieces of her heart.

Perhaps it was to think that for a little while, she had been good enough. For a little while, she had been worth his love even if she couldn’t give it back to him. It was selfish, but it wouldn’t hurt him. It was okay to be selfish if it wouldn’t hurt others, she figured.

She shook her head, withdrawing her hand back from him and crossing her arms over her chest. She refused to see the flash of hurt on his eyes at her gesture, and she refused to acknowledge the cold feeling, the absence of his hand holding hers. “I don’t know,” she answered quietly, shaking her head as she looked away. “I don’t know, Steve.”

“What would I give?” he asked, and she wasn’t surprised by it. She wasn’t surprised by the question, this _series_ of questions he had for her, because it wasn’t him to keep silent, wasn’t him to not have the last word, wasn’t him to not explore every possibility should the outcome he wanted would render improbable. “What would I give so you wouldn’t have to go? What could I do?” he pleaded, so desperately and almost so frantically she felt bad he had to do it now, when her mind was already made up, when her flight was about to leave in three hours. “What could I give to make you stay?”

What could he give? He asked, as if he hadn’t given her _everything_ she could ever ask for and she could ever need.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking as her eyes flickered over to look back at him. “Wouldn’t know how you could fix a broken heart, would you?”

He pursed his lips, giving her a small and sad smile as he lowered his head and looked down. “I wouldn’t know,” he said quietly. “Haven’t exactly figured that out for myself, either.”

If what he said was an attempt of her staying back to be with him, then he failed. Because who was she to stay in the life of someone she had hurt? Of someone whom she cared about, yet still managed to hurt without meaning it, all because of the same thing, the same reason why everybody else in her life had left—because she couldn’t love enough, because she _wasn’t_ enough. She felt like she had loved him too little, too short of the amount of love he had for her. And if there was a question of whether she tried harder or not, she had, but she also figured that maybe all she ever was, and all she ever had been was limited.

She would _never_ be enough for people who had large hearts with large enough rooms for large amounts of love. Perhaps her heart was not as elastic as other people hoped for human hearts to be. Her heart only contained a certain amount of passion, love and pain. Unfortunately, the pain had been too overwhelming; it might have worn out her heart’s elasticity even before it could expand more for love.

It was something she just had to live with, she supposed. As if she hadn’t lived with it for all her life.

“You won’t come back?” he asked, as if it was another hail-mary for him. She shook her head as their eyes met.

“Do me a favor, though?” she asked weakly, giving him a small smile as she rested a hand on his chest, the spot above his heart, that of which she felt it beating against her palm. It was fast, heavy, reflecting the way he probably felt watching her leave, watching her walk away—this time, probably forever. “You won’t stop living, and you won’t stop loving. Your heart’s too big for it to stop, and you’re such a great enough person for you to stop living and sharing your life with others.” She gave him a small smile. “Go share your life with another.”

He couldn’t respond to that. Couldn’t figure out a way on how to respond on such a heavy and huge request. How could he? How could he continue on loving when the one person who had a hold of his heart was leaving, telling him to love anyone else that wasn’t her. And once again, he figured, his greedy heart—the one she called big enough to have a lot of heart and life in it, when in truth it had only been small, and could only ever love one of her—could not quite understand what she was making him do. He could not believe, and he could not understand how he could just forget about her, _leave_ her, even though she’s the one leaving him.

Because for him, to leave a person that he loved was impossible. His greedy heart simply could not take that thought.

She was asking him for too much, one he was not at all sure he could ever fulfill or make it come true. “What about you?” he asked, his voice small. “What about...what about you?”

She gave him a small smile, lifting the hand that was on his chest up to cup his face, and he instinctively leaned towards it, towards her touch. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, daring to take a step closer towards him. “Don’t you worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Will she? It was the question inside both of their minds, one that they’re quite uncertain what the answer was, most especially Natasha herself, but she figured she would. She was a survivor, after all, a resilient one in whatever curveball life would throw at her. She would be fine. She would be alright.

She pulled her in for an embrace, one he gladly took as he enveloped her tightly around his arms, as she closed her eyes and buried her face in his firm chest. It pained her to have to leave, to have to ask for what she knew was too much for him, her chest constricting and her heart aching _so_ badly that she wished she could just stay enveloped in his arms forever. She felt safe with him, always _had_ felt safe with him.

Sometimes, she could just wish _he_ would be safe with her too. _Maybe in another life,_ she thought, as she pulled away to meet his eyes again, lifting her hands to wipe his cheeks with her thumb gently, and finally leaning up to press a soft kiss on his cheek. _Maybe in another universe we could work._

For how long she would manage to hold on to that thought, she didn’t know. For _why_ she wanted to hold onto that thought, she didn’t know either. What she _did_ know, though, was that when she got in the car Sharon was driving so she could bring her to the airport, she allowed herself to look back at him through the rearview mirror, heart aching and chest constricting when she saw him being consoled by Bucky as he looked on sadly, a hand raised as if for a last wave of goodbye. She watched until he finally became smaller and smaller on the rearview mirror, until he finally disappeared.

How she wished too, that memories of him would also work like that; that over time he’d grow smaller and smaller until he would just disappear. But it didn’t work like that. For some reason, _he_ could never work like that with her.

“He’s gonna wait for you, you know,” Sharon said, snapping Natasha out of her thoughts as she turned her head to look at her. “He’s been doing so for quite some time. It’s impossible he’s gonna stop.”

 _Why?_ She asked herself. _Why will you let yourself fall eighty floors above ground only to snap in half, and wait for a broken person like her to fix him?_

“He shouldn’t,” she responded quietly, looking away and facing the window once again. “He shouldn’t wait anymore.”

But she knew better. She knew he will, for quite some time, probably, until when he could finally let her go. For how long that would take, she’s not at all certain. _For now,_ she thought, she could only wish for him to forget her, and for the pain in her heart to ease ever so slightly.

“He loves you,” Sharon said, and Natasha pursed her lips as a wave of pain came crashing in her heart. “And I know you wouldn’t want to admit it, but you love him back too.” She paused. “It’s why you’re so conflicted. Probably why you’re in so much pain. You can’t leave the person you love.”

“If that were true, then nobody ever loved me.” she said quietly, looking back at her best friend.

“There are lots who do,” Sharon told her. “First and foremost of all of ‘em is him.”

 _She can only love some of him,_ she thought. She had admitted it so far to him, so far to others, including her best friend. _She can only love some of a person, never whole._ That’s how broken hearts love, she supposed. Broken hearts, like hers, could only love a part, one that could never be enough no matter how hard she tried. Did that count as love? Enough to make her stay, enough to keep a person with her?

In hindsight, she knew it did. But what she wanted for him was a love so grand she knew it was too large and too impossible for her to give.

**Author's Note:**

> check out some of my other works in my profile too!


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